<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Paranoia by mcrhomo</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22400926">Paranoia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcrhomo/pseuds/mcrhomo'>mcrhomo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(just implied though), Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Drunk Sex, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Oneshot, Slam Poetry, pls read im so proud, poet!gerard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 10:34:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22400926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcrhomo/pseuds/mcrhomo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is about the present and the future, but never the past.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Paranoia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank sits at a round, wooden table at a poetry bar. The idea of a poetry bar, he thinks, is absurd, but his friends brought him here and they're paying, so what's to lose? He holds a straw between his teeth as he laughs at Ray's joke, the ice in his drink clinking against his glass and the alcohol working his blood. The lights are dim, but the first act of the night is about to come on. </p>
<p>A woman takes the stage and introduces him. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Gerard Way."</p>
<p>Walking onto the stage is a man that Frank finds oddly enthralling. He's pale in a way that makes you wonder if he's ill, and he carries himself in an awkward demeanor, but you can tell from the moment he steps in front of the mic that he's done this many, many times and it is exactly what he's meant to do. He looks like he was built of ice an the audience is melting him right before them. He takes a deep breath and shakes his stringy black hair into his face-- which Frank finds both confusing but also reasonable. He opens his mouth to speak.</p>
<p>"This poem is called Paranoia. I dedicate it to the present and the future, but never the past."</p>
<p>Frank finds himself become completely and totally engrossed, not even noticing what Ray or Pete has to say to him. Gerard Way has his entire attention, which is rare because the only thing that usually engrosses him like that is his guitar. </p>
<p>He hears a slight tapping of a cymbal, and Gerard begins his poem. </p>
<p>"I could feel the hum of electricity in my fingertips. I could feel my eyes move in their sockets. I could feel my breath in my bones and my sweat in my lungs. I was feign with no one. Elusive. Daybreak. The sun rises on its haunches and aches to the core. It’s simple. Stay low. Throw jabs. Try not to let the fatigue get to you."</p>
<p>His art was very vague, and Frank loved it. The words reminded Frank of a cold sweat. </p>
<p>"No one’s outside, but they’re coming in. Hate to see it. My very hinges are breaking and I bark in my sleep. Forthcoming."</p>
<p>He wonders what situation Gerard was in when he wrote it. It made a strange amount of sense to Frank, even through the cryptic feeling of all of it.  </p>
<p>"Cold metal. Sharp metal. It’ll cut you if you’re not careful. You’ll bleed until you’re bloodless and the ants will feast. "</p>
<p>The images that this puts into one listener's mind is completely and totally different from another. That was the art of it. Interpretation is the best part of it.</p>
<p>"Breathe it in. The walls are looking at you and at some point you’ll have to acknowledge them. I can’t tell if my heart isn’t beating or is just doing so quite too fast. It’s playing a note very similar to the creak. Every object seems to tilt when I bring my sorry eyes to it. The fan only stops when I look at it. The house is breathing. Forlorn."</p>
<p>Frank's straw is still in his mouth and he stares at Gerard with an emotion he doesn't even know.  His mouth hangs open a little bit as Gerard stands at the mic with his eyes barely open, spitting out his heart and soul and everything in between. Frank wasn't sure Gerard knew his own emotion either. </p>
<p>"It clatters shut. Simple camaraderie. He looks at me with what is either deceit or misfortune. My eyes regurgitate ice when they’re unconscious. Who is whispering? Is it me? My teeth turn a sickly shade of pink and I let myself wander. It’s raining. I’m isolated in the sense where I feel the world is suffocating me. My skin is clammy and it’ll only get colder."</p>
<p>Frank knew there was some tie between the poem and a cold sweat. </p>
<p>"I don’t weep. My anger is as full and total as light. No time to weep. No time to rest. You’re a product of all you love and I love nothing."</p>
<p>Leaning back in his chair, Frank had to take a moment to assure that he fully understood the rawness of that line. He felt his heart beat for the first time in what seemed like years. </p>
<p>"The human body is imprisoning. Breathe deep and don’t answer. Orion is not your plaything. Don’t leave me alone but don’t stay with me either. Don’t stay. Listen to me. My eyelids are closing in on me and I think I’m dying. Goodnight."</p>
<p>Gerard walked off of the stage as the audience applauded. Frank couldn't even applaud, he was so taken aback by the whole thing. He didn't hear Ray or Pete either. </p>
<p>"Frank! Frank!" He was snapped out of it by Pete shouting his name. "Dude, you're a poetry nerd?"</p>
<p>"What, no," Frank took another sip of his drink. "It was just...dude, it was crazy."</p>
<p>"I don't even think it was the poem," Ray said. "I think it was him."</p>
<p>Frank scoffed. "No, it was definitely the poem."</p>
<p>"Dude, I haven't seen you make dick eyes like that since the eleventh grade."</p>
<p>"First of all, what the fuck are dick eyes? Second of all, I'm pretty sure it wasn't him."</p>
<p>"Pretty sure it was. You should go talk to him." Ray said, motioning towards the table where Gerard was sitting alone. </p>
<p>"I'm not going to go talk to some poetry guy just because you said I was making dick eyes for him."</p>
<p>"You are, or you're paying."</p>
<p>"What? Fine." </p>
<p>Frank walked over to the table and took a seat. "I, uh, really liked your poem. I think you're really talented."</p>
<p>Gerard looked up from whatever he was working on at the moment. He looked like this was the best compliment he's ever received, and said enthusiastically, "Thank you!"</p>
<p>Frank eyed the notebook he was writing in. "What are you working on now?"</p>
<p>"I don't know yet," Gerard said. "Something about vampires. Maybe about undying love. Definitely about revenge."</p>
<p>Looking at Gerard a little confusedly, but a little admirably too, Frank said, "Can I buy you a drink?"</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>They were both a slightly drunk after a few rum and cokes, and they were talking loudly between each other. Ray and Pete had left, but Frank didn't notice. </p>
<p>"And then--and then he was like 'you're making dick eyes to this guy!' and I was like 'what the fuck are dick eyes, bro?' and he was like 'you should go talk to him' and he didn't even answer my question! He didn't answer it! So now I'm just stuck here wondering what the fuck dick eyes are!" </p>
<p>Gerard giggled. "I don't know what a dick eye is! That's super gross."</p>
<p>"I know!"</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>The bar was closing. The two walked into the cold February wind and Gerard said, "Hey, I don't live very far from here, wanna crash at my place?"</p>
<p>"Yeah!" Frank kicked the grey snow to his side. "Hell yeah."</p>
<p>Gerard seemed to have a habit of giggling uncontrollably when he was drunk. "Hell yeah." He grabbed ahold of Frank's hand and swung their arms while they walked. This would've been a lot weirder if they weren't stupid drunk, considering they only met a couple hours ago.</p>
<p>They both started singing gibberish and walking until Gerard said, "Wait, we passed the building!" and Frank laughed. They backtracked a few steps and walked into the lobby. When they reached Gerard's door, he fumbled for his key and unlocked it after a few tries. </p>
<p>They went into the apartment and Frank made a beeline for Gerard's dresser. "Hey, do you have a shirt I can wear? I'm like really fucking sweaty."</p>
<p>"Yeah, any of those are fine."</p>
<p>Frank pulled his shirt over his head and Gerard almost choked-- Frank was covered in ink. </p>
<p>"Woah, you have tattoos?" Tattoos were probably one of Gerard's biggest turn-ons.</p>
<p>"Yeah, i do." Frank browsed through G's t-shirt collection.</p>
<p>"Wow."</p>
<p>Gerard walked up behind Frank, getting a closer view of his tattoos, and the sudden presence behind him caused him to turn around, where Gerard promptly but appropriately shoved his tongue in Frank's mouth. Frank made a little "Oh" in Gerard's mouth when he realized what was going on, but he leaned into it and kissed Gerard back. Frank ended up getting pinned to the wall and things escalated, and it was sweaty and sour and it was sticky and it was hot.</p>
<p>Frank woke up in an unfamiliar bed with a familiar headache, and looked to see who was next to him and there he saw Gerard Way, semi-familiar, still sleeping. When Frank sat up, Gerard stirred and woke. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and laughed. "Was that a mistake?"</p>
<p>"Do you think it was a mistake?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. Well, I don't think so."</p>
<p>"Me either."</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>Frank sits alone at a round, wooden table at a poetry bar. The idea of a poetry bar makes more sense to him now than ever. He holds his straw between his teeth, the ice in his drink clinking against the glass and the alcohol working his blood. The lights are dim, but the first act of the night is about to come on.</p>
<p>Gerard walks onto stage and shakes his hair into his face. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to speak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This poem is called Paranoia. And I dedicate it to love."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im legitimately so proud of this. please please leave a comment if u liked it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>